Rain Forgotten
by Brokennmist
Summary: A tale of war, of bravery and of love. This is the tale of Lluva, of Rain. An OC story. Does not explicitly follow the movie.
1. Of Troy

**Hello lovelies!**

**This is one story that falls quite a fair bit out of my usual writing style, as you'll notice in the coming chapters. Enjoy!**

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The creature stood still amongst the tall grass, weary and noticeably disturbed. It sniffed the air, the outline of its skeletal figure distinctly imprinted against the clear blue sky, ears twitching at catching a faraway sound that only it seemed to hear. The black dog whined, then padded across the broad valley floor, sniffing at the emerald green of grass and the various patches of wildflowers that adorned it.

It was running now, through the valley, till the long grass finally gave way to what looked like a hint of a small desert plain. The dog saw a worn bronze spear, half imbedded in the sand at an angle, and a cracked helmet lying on its side beside it, bloody. It ambled over to the helmet and sniffed the abandoned piece of armor apprehensively before turning round to continue its search.

The dog stopped suddenly, ears pricking up. It turned its head up and eyed the dozens of crows as they descended into what looked like a shallow ravine a little further north. It saw the birds squabble and peck, clustered around something on the ground. With a growl, it charged at the crows, causing the black birds to shriek in protest and flap away to safety. The dog watched them with satisfaction, then turned its eyes upon that which the birds had been feasting on.

A soldier lay there, facedown and evidently lifeless. Whatever armor he had worn previously had been stripped away, so that his naked body was now left vulnerable to the elements. The dog inched closer to the corpse. It sniffed uncertainly at the man's hands, whining loudly, before it began to unhesitatingly lick his fingers. The small mangy creature suddenly looked up, ears twitching at the sound of faint, but unmistakably nearing, hoof beats. It backed up against the corpse, growling, ears flat against its head, clearly determined to defend and protect its dead master.

The dog looked on, undaunted, as a tall proud steed with a coat of rich ebony galloped across the valley before it, bearing what seemed to be an unarmed soldier, with iron-straight long hair of the darkest ash slapping viciously upon their back. The horse and its rider approached the dog and its fallen master swiftly, coming to a halt an inch away from the small creature. The stallion reared up before the dog, seemingly in an attempt to intimidate the latter, but its attempt proved unsuccessful as the canine pulled back its lips to reveal sharp yellowing teeth. It growled; eyes flashing, ears flat against either side of its head.

The black stallion eyed the vicious little mutt for a moment, before snorting loudly and lowering itself ever so slightly so that its rider could dismount with ease. The latter did so, with little hesitance, landing on the coarse sand soundlessly, dark hair carried by the strong wind to reveal a battle worn face that was of the softest tan. It held features that looked to be carefully molded by the Gods, with distinct cheek bones, small lips of soft pink and large eyes comparable to a mix of the blue of the ocean and the dark green of emeralds. She was dressed in a simple knee-length wheat-colored tunic with sleeves that went right down to her wrists, and a pair of leather sandals. Her sword was in its sheath, the sling strung across her chest.

The rider went down on one knee before the mangy mutt and reached to stroke the animal's head kindly. The dog pulled back abruptly, but was no longer growling. It sniffed apprehensively at the offered hand, ears perking up slightly at the prospect of a new human companion. Then, evidently deciding that the small woman meant no harm, it sat back on its hind legs, wagging its tail as it felt her reach out and stroke its head comfortingly.

The woman laughed, and with a final comforting pat on the dog's head, got back up on to both feet and made her way slowly to its fallen master. She sighed at the sight of the naked corpse, reaching down to turn the dead soldier over so that he now lay on his back. With yet another sigh, she placed two fingers briefly upon the lids of the soldier's open eyes and, with a prayer to the Gods, slid them close. Then with purpose in every step, she made for where the soldier's helmet and spear lay and retrieved them, before heading back for his corpse. The woman reached over and placed the soldier's left hand upon his right, and rested them on his chest, before then gingerly placing his helmet on them and laying his spear beside his limp body.

She gave a bitter smile as she straightened and made her way to her steed. She mounted it, and prepared to ride on, but paused when she caught the whiff of sweat, grime and determination. She strained her ears, a frown passing her features, and caught the distinct sound that accompanied the smell; hoof beats, chariot wheels, marching men, the clank of bronze armor and weaponry – the approach of an army she could only guess to be a few thousand strong, or more.

Her frown deepened, and with a low growl, she grabbed the reins of her steed and urged him on, the dog loping close behind. They went further into the plains, till they came to the sudden drop of a cliff. There, the woman sat proud and tall as she looked over the edge of the cliff to see an army of five thousand marching determinedly from the south into the valley. Armored with breastplates, helmets and shields of polished bronze, the soldiers glittered in the morning sun. Alongside the infantry rode dozens of horse-drawn chariots carrying kings and nobles alike.

On the opposite side of the valley, an army of what looked to be three thousand men marched into view, armored with gear and weaponry evidently less impressive then those of the opposing army.

They were noticeably of no match.

The woman watched on as the armies came to a halt a good two hundred feet away from one another and the kings from either side were drawn forth to meet by chariots of gold. One looked up, and she vaguely saw him smile at the many crows flying overhead. He said something she didn't quite catch, then turned slightly so that she could now just about make out the Alpha symbol engraved across the chest of his bronze armor, and the clearly noticeable gold scepter, a symbol of command, that laid cradled in his arms.

This was he whose name she had heard oh so often fearfully pass the lips of her people – Agememnon, self-proclaimed King of kings.

She thought the opposing leader seemed so much less imposing, hardly projecting the air of equal confidence of the other, and, fiddling with his scepter, faced the Myceanean army with fairly evident unease. She vaguely saw him frown, then turn back to his army. He boomed a strange name, one that she had heard off once. An impossibly large man came barreling forth from amidst uneasy soldiers

Agememnon studied the impressive champion with what looked like distaste as the latter came to a halt behind his king.

'Achilles!'

The call startled her, and the woman jumped slightly at the name. She held her breath, suddenly attentive, as she awaited the appearance of the said warrior. The Mycenaeans began murmuring amongst themselves, as they soon realized that no warrior had emerged from their army to answer the call of their king.

The armies waited. The kings waited.

She waited.

Cheers erupted suddenly from within the Mycenaen army, and she just barely made out a single warrior making his way past the soldiers, and up to the front of the army, coming to a stop beside Agamemnon. She watched them with little interest as they exchanged heated words before the warrior spun round to face his opponent. She studied the warrior's straggly blonde hair and deeply tanned limbs with a frown.

This was the legendary Achilles.

The woman had heard of this legendary Achilles, said to be the greatest warrior the world had seen, whose blood came from the very Gods themselves. This was the legendary Achilles who was no leader, nor a follower. This was the legendary Achilles who fought for no one and no thing but his honor.

This was the legendary Achilles whom she despised to the very bone, the Achilles who had killed many just so that his name would pass the lips of all in centuries to come.

_This_ was the legendary Achilles.

The warrior approached the giant with evident calm, as the latter spun round towards his army and shook his spear over his head, earning cheers from the men. The warrior closed the distance between him and the giant with little hesitance, expertly blocking, just narrowly, a spear thrown his way so that it blasted its way through the thick bronze skin of his shield. He threw down his now useless shield, not breaking his stride, then lunged swiftly, but surely, and embedded his sword to the hilt in the giant's naked shoulder. The warrior did nothing as the giant collapsed, but instead continued making his way towards the opposing army without looking back.

'Is there no one else?' he roared.

Silence greeted the warrior's words.

'IS THERE NO ONE ELSE?'

The opposing king eyed the man and slowly made his way over to him. She saw them exchange words, before the king offered his scepter to the warrior. The latter turned away abruptly, to her surprise, clearly declining the offer, and began heading west instead – right towards her.

He looked up suddenly, studying the crows circling above, before he turned ever so slightly, and looked straight at her. He halted, taking off his helmet, and studied her with what looked like a frown marring his features.

This was Achilles – _murderer._

She glared right back, eyes sparkling with ferocity, then snatched the reins of her steed and spun the animal round, before speeding off back into the valley whence she came. The legendary Achilles was here, and with him was an army more than five thousand strong.

The legendary Achilles was here, bringing with him Agememnon, King of kings, who was no doubt searching for more lands to lord over.

She would not see her land fall.

She would not see Troy fall.

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**Tell me what you think!**

**xoxo  
Marsy**


	2. Rain

**Most of this chapter belongs to Alice Hoffman. I am a writer of no such calibre.**

**Enjoy!**

**xoxo  
Marsy**

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She rode swiftly across the plains, a lone figure imprinted against the quickly darkening sky.

Her name had once meant granddaughter, daughter, princess, Queen-to-be.

Once.

She had been born out of sorrow, so her mother had named her Lluva.

Rain.

She had lived in the land of Warriors, deep in the green of the forest, seen to everyone but themselves as strange barbarians. It was the land of women, who had horses gifted to them by the Goddess as sisters, as guides, as sustenance. It was the land of war, with a tall proud respected thing as Queen, a gift from the Goddess, beloved by all, but as unreachable as stars, even when it came to her own daughter.

Her daughter, the Queen-to-be, Lluva.

Rain.

It was the land of the Amazonians.

The Queen's story was not one to tell, but it was whispered to her daughter all the same. It was a tale of sorrow and pain, of strength and cowardice, but Lluva never once blinked as she heard it all in the breath of a Priestess, just as her mother hadn't once blinked when she birthed her heir in a makeshift tent at the tender age of fourteen whilst the rain pounded all around her.

It was said, in the land of Warriors, that the shadow is one of their souls, and the Queen's soul disappeared the day she had been violated by the twenty-six cowards who had cornered her. Her shadow had shattered into black shards, then rose up like smoke. All that was left was the iron inside her – only the hardest part remained.

The Queen was like a piece of ice in the sunlight, blinding and bright and unforgiving, and even more so towards her own daughter.

But even then, Lluva looked upon her mother with respect and love, and sought to do all she could to live up to the name of Queen-to-be. She rode the swiftest of horses, one that she was gifted with at thirteen, as her great-grandmother had once done. Her first battle had been when she was barely sixteen, when men had come, hoping to find the land of a thousand wives.

They found their defeat.

She had ridden with the archers, the most gifted of warriors. She had killed seven men, all of whom had made an attempt on her life. She had had one kneeling before her, neck at the tip of her scythe.

And then, she had done what no Amazonian, much less Queen, would have done.

She had slapped him, hard, across the face, drawing crimson red that stained his teeth. She had swung her scythe, cutting his cheek, then ordered for him to leave in a quiet controlled voice. She had watched with relief rushing through her as he scrambled away.

She had shown mercy.

That evening she had lost her kin, and her kin had lost her.

Lluva had crossed foreign lands, shivering slightly as her stallion rode against the wind, having been stripped off all clothing before she had been sent away. She had ridden in the greens of the forest for close to a month, thanking the Goddess for whatever food and water she had been presented with. She had weaved clothes from the skin of a bear she had killed, and had taken its paws to wear as gloves and brandished its claws as weapons, so that she might get strength and courage from the spirit of the bear.

She could've dwelled in the land of green till the Goddess had death claim her, but hadn't wished to, so she rode her stallion fast and hard, till the pair finally broke from the green and into the desert plains. She had been determined to stay on her horse till she found civilization, promising herself to be brought off her horse only by thirst.

She didn't quite manage to keep the promise.

Lluva had been taken of her horse by the force of an arrow that had flown through her right forearm. It had taken seventeen Trojans to bring her down, twelve to tie down her black stallion, and nine to cage both, but it had taken the mercy of a prince and the love of a king to have her willingly pledge her loyalty to the foreign land.

She was no longer Lluva, Queen-to-be.

She was Lluva, Lady of Troy.

The sun had long since retreated behind the vast horizon when Lluva pulled up before the tall vast wooden gates of Troy. She could see the lights of the great city within the great walls that stretched so far, either end could barely be seen.

'Who goes there?' came a call, from high atop the walls.

Lluva looked up instinctively to see a soldier leaning over, in what seemed to be an attempt at making out her features in the dark.

'I am Lluva, Lady of Troy!' she called back.

There was silence.

Then, 'Milady, forgive me! The darkness hinders my sight!'

She smiled bitterly, disbelievingly.

'That it does, Tecton!'

More silence.

Her bitter smile faltered, and a hint of a frown was evident.

'Tecton!'

'Yes, Milady?'

'I'll need the gates open should I wish to enter!'

'I – yes, Milady,' came the stammered reply, followed by the low hum of the machinery within that drew the gates.

Her new found dog let out a mournful howl. Lluva turned to eye the mangy creature. It met her gaze meaningfully with huge brown eyes and whined.

She smiled.

'Hungry, little one?'

The dog whined again. Lluva laughed.

'Come, then.'

She bent low, reaching out and the dog leapt into her arms gleefully, then grasped a lock of her stallion's mane and urged her loyal steed into the walls of Troy, with her new found companion wrapped safely in her warm embrace.

Lluva's return to Troy went widely unnoticed by her people. She urged her steed on steadily through the long ill-lit streets, well-aware that hardly any of the peasants would be awake at that late hour. The return of a prince, or a king, from a long, week-long scout alone would've been cause for a great celebration, but she was no king, nor prince, nor royalty of any sort. Her return, or perhaps her leaving, or worse, her death, wouldn't have been news of interest to her people.

She was an intruder in their land, thrust into nobility through sheer luck. Any one of them would've deserved the position a great deal more than she. They were natives after all, and she clearly was not.


	3. Comings

'It is late, why do you work?'

'I await your return.'

Lluva smiled and tossed the young boy a single gold coin. He caught it with ease, then looked up at her with wide bright blue eyes that sparkled with glee.

'I thank you, Lady,' he said, grinning. He ran a skeletal hand through matted blonde hair.

She returned his smile, nodding her head in reply, as she thrust her hand out to indicate the ebony horse she was leaving the young stable-hand with. Still grinning, he took her noble steed by the head and began gently guiding him into his stable. She watched him wordlessly, arms wrapped around the skeletal figure of her new found canine companion. It whined.

'It is okay, little one,' she murmured, stroking the spine of the mangy creature with the tips of her long fingers. 'I will get you food soon enough.'

The stable-hand and her stallion disappeared into the vast shadows that spread out before her. She heard her horse neigh, then all was quiet. Now evidently satisfied with the service her loyal friend had acquired, she turned, the hem of her tunic swishing about by her knees as she did so.

'Lluva?'

She looked up, slightly startled, and saw a young prince making his way hurriedly down the vast steps of the palace. He seemed to be merely a shadow against the brilliant shine of the lights from the great royal palace, but he was still wonderfully good-looking, her dear brother was, and she wouldn't disagree to that well-known fact for anything. His locks of brilliant bronze were weaved with the sparkles of the palace lights, so that they shone beautifully, a delightful complement to his large hazel eyes and distinctly carved jaw.

'Paris!'

She grinned and waved, striding over calmly to the prince. There was a distinct want to run, the want to rush into his strong arms and feel the warm comfort in the embrace of Troy, but she was much to weary to do so, much to weary to do anything, really.

He strode over, then pulled her in his arms, and she delved in the feel of the comforting embrace, her dog pressed up between them. She felt his breath in her dark hair, smelled his sweet scent surrounding her.

'You are safe, dear sister!'

'I'm afraid so!' she countered, laughing.

He laughed as well, the resulting duet strangely musical to her ears. He tightened the embrace on her momentarily, before pulling back and holding her an arm's length away to examine her carefully, a wide grin plastered upon his beautiful face.

'How did you know of my return?'

'I heard the neigh of your stallion, a sound I find difficult to miss when it pierces the silence of the night.'

She smiled.

'Is the King –'

'Lluva! My dove!'

She looked up, startled, to see the crown prince making his way down the palace steps, the hem of his tunic swishing noisily in the breeze.

Her eyes widened happily at the sight of the man heading hurriedly for her. He threw his arms around her with reckless abandon and plastered her porcelain face with wet chaste kisses. She laughed, trying to pull away from his messy embrace, but he only pulled her tighter into his arms. The breath left her as she struggled against his grasp.

'Hector, – I can't – seem to breathe!'

The prince pulled away hastily, face flushed with apparent glee of her return. He was not quite as good-looking as his brother, but was ravishingly handsome nonetheless.

'My graceful warrior, Apollo knows how much we've missed you,' he murmured, holding her at arms length to examine her carefully. 'Are you well? You look famished!'

'I am well, Hector,' she replied, pulling away so that she now held his hands in hers. 'Where is Andromache? And Briseis? The King? Are they well?'

'The Gods have granted them good health,' Hector answered, eyes sparkling with happiness. He smiled his dashing smile and Lluva couldn't help but complement it with sweet smile of her own. 'The King has retired for his age wearies him so. Andromache, too, is weary, with the baby she carries, and now rests in our chambers,' he continued.

Lluva's smile grew at the sound of the exasperation in her brother's voice at the mention of his lovely wife. Possibly only the Gods knew fully well what Andromache had probably put him through earlier in the evening.

'Father has sent Briseis to her chambers,' Paris added, amusement evidently laced in every word uttered.

'Why, in Apollo's name, would he do that?' Lluva asked, frowning, indignation clearly marring her delicately carved features.

Paris laughed.

'Father regards this time of the day as "uncharacteristically savage" and "terribly unsuitable for a young lady her age",' Hector replied with a smile.

Lluva couldn't help but let out a tinkling laugh. 'Does she still wish to be a priestess?'

'Thankfully! Listening to her ever changing ambitions had become exceedingly tiring,' Hector muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. 'We had a bet, Paris and I. We were wondering if she was going to revert back to wishing to be just like you.'

Lluva raised a delicate eyebrow. 'Just like me?'

'In the army,' Paris replied, looking entirely sheepish. 'A fighter who bested all the other _men_. Best. The greatest warrior.'

A strong gust of wind blew by, stinging Lluva's skin with its cool touch. She shivered involuntarily, causing Hector to start.

'Are you ill?'

'No, I am well, Hector –'

'You are shivering, my little warrior! The sun is not up; Apollo's warmth has left you. Are you well? Are you ill?'

'I am _well_, Hector,' Lluva repeated with a smile she couldn't quite help. 'But not the greatest.'

The crown prince blinked.

'What do you speak of?'

Lluva barely managed to suppress a giggle.

'Not the greatest warrior. The second, after Hector.'

Both princes smiled.

'After me,' Hector agreed.

Lluva let out yet another tinkling laugh and playfully shoved the prince in the shoulder. He stumbled backwards, but managed to steady himself by grabbing on to her shoulders. Before she could even comprehend his next course of action, she was thrown over his shoulder, the dog leaping out of her arms with a yelp. She let out a surprised shriek that was quickly muffled when Paris slapped a smooth hand over her mouth.

'We can't have you waking the entire city, dear sister,' the young prince whispered, then grinned wickedly.

She scowled at him.

'Shall we go, then?' Hector asked as he shifted slightly to balance out the weight over his shoulder, causing the pronounced bone of his shoulder to jab into her middle uncomfortably.

Lluva beat against his back savagely with curled up fists in response. Paris caught both hands by the wrist and shot her another grin.

'I believe she means yes, brother.'

'Let us proceed, then, my dear Paris, for I am sure this little Amazonian is no match for _the greatest warrior_.'

Lluva growled against Paris' hand.


	4. Stench of Hades

Lluva was alone in the dark; so, so very alone. She'd always been left alone, of course, but she felt especially so now. With a cry of anguish, she flung herself bodily on the huge bed and began burrowing through the deep red sheets mournfully, body wrecked by rather violent shivers as the cool night air brushed against her wet skin.

The ceiling wasn't as interesting to glare at as it had once been, even despite the glinting gold of the chandeliers, and it remained so even after she shot it a vicious scowl. She narrowed her eyes, holding the scowl a moment longer before giving a harsh shriek of frustration and burrowed deeper into the sheets so that she was now wrapped in a cocoon of wet silk, sheathed sword pressed against her side.

Both Hector and Paris had long retired to their chambers; the palace had fallen into slumber. Lluva thoroughly despised her sleepless nights. At times she worked with her blade and shield, whilst others she used to dutifully shine her armor, but this night she was much too weary to even consider lifting her blade, and her armor already hung by the balcony, glinting proudly against the sheer brilliance of the moon. With yet another raw cry of frustration, she burrowed deeper still into her cocoon, eyes squeezed shut.

Perhaps she could check upon her canine companion, amuse herself with watching the little thing tear apart the kitchens, but the sound of slight rustling had her launching from her little wet cocoon in one swift move, sheathed blade at hand. In the dark she was blind, leaving her to merely assume that the sounds had floated from behind the vast doors of her chambers. There were more rustles; the rustle of clothing, of robes, and the slight shifting of feet that were steady, firm, perhaps even _calculating_.

Her blade was drawn steadily. She could smell it now, the scent of honey and berries interwoven, the perspiration, the metallic tang of an ill-crafted blade, the _fear_. A grim smile flitted past her features. Whosoever was outside was female and was in no way a stranger to the palace, not with a body that carried such a sweet scent. With the odour of fear so strongly invading her senses, Lluva held no doubts in her ability to bring this assailant down, with _or_ without the blade in her hand.

She stalked to the great doors, well aware of each silent move she made. She heard breathing, her own calm and steady, the one that emanated from behind the doors becoming increasingly shallow and rapid. For a moment, the thought of calling out, of warning the sly little vixen on the other side flitted by, but she shoved it away, deciding that she did indeed want a little fun this night. Besides, she needed to let the fool know she was not one to be toyed with.

The rustling stopped, giving way to the sound of small, ever so familiar hiccoughs, so that even as the doors were pushed open with a surprising show of strength, Lluva already had her blade hanging limply by her side.

'Llu – Lluva?'

The young maiden entered, then halted tentatively before the great doors, sniffling ever so slightly. Her aristocratic demeanour was a shadow to the shivering fear that held her, the trembling of her slender frame having the hem of her lavender robes rustle incessantly. Dark curls fell in a mess down her back, a stark contrast, even in the shadows of the night, to the fragile ivory of her face.

'You – you have your sword.'

It was a question, Lluva knew, but she merely granted a smile, sheathing the blade.

'And you are with a knife, my little priestess,' she countered in a melodious murmur.

Briseis let out another child-like hiccough and threw herself into Lluva's arms, burying her face in the long ebony silk of hair.

'I was – I was fearful.'

Lluva heard the tears in the muffled reply.

'And what is it that has made you so fearful, cousin?'

'The – the night.'

Lluva frowned, withdrawing from the embrace, and held the little princess by the shoulders. The poor thing was trembling, tears gliding down the marble perfection of her face like small carefully carved gems. She wasn't really any smaller than Lluva was, but with violent sobs wrecking her slender frame, she seemed hardly any more mature than a good seven winters.

'Why?'

The princess let out a vicious cry of anguish, yanking away from Lluva's grip. She flung herself on the great bed, then burrowed deep into the crimson sheets so that all that was left of her was a small round trembling lump curled by the side.

'Briseis?'

A muffled cry shot from the lump in reply. Lluva's frowned deepened. Her little cousin, the princess who had once, in an angry show of defiance to the King, professed and vowed to be the greatest warrior Troy would see now lay trembling beneath _her_ wet sheets.

'Did - did a man touch you?'

Lluva would see to ensuring that the fool of a swine was no longer a man, not at the mercy of her blade.

'Briseis?'

The covers were thrown off the lump momentarily, long enough for it to shriek a loud resounding _No!_, before it was pulled back up, and the only sign of the princess' presence was the mere lump, yet again.

With a sigh, Lluva dropped her sword and made for the bed.

'Briseis, my little princess, why do you hide?'

There was another muffled cry.

'Let me share you pain, cousin,' Lluva murmured.

She, too, crawled into the bed, and into the suffocating darkness beneath the sheets.

'I'm – I'm sorry.'

'What ever for?' Lluva asked, wrapping her arms around the poor trembling girl.

'Your journey must have had you weary.'

'A little.'

She could feel the princess' breathing calm.

'I wished to go to Hector, or – or perhaps Paris, but – but I could not.'

'I know, little one, I know,' Lluva whispered, crawling out from beneath the sheets, taking the princess with her. 'What has you so fearful?'

The girl drew a rattling breath, and she buried her face in Lluva's shoulder.

'I've seen – I've seen horses – stallions with coats of darkest ebony with eyes black, like shadows on a moonless night,' she whispered, breath warm, like summer's heat, against the cool wet sleeve her nose was pressed up against. She glanced up, eyes of bronze wide and blazing like suns. 'They come to me, bearing men who stand taller than men, men swathed in robes of silken black with their heads wrapped in the shadows. I see not their faces, but I see the sceptres and spears of purest gold cradled in their arms.'

'Spears?'

The princess nodded.

'The sharpest, the longest. They bring with them screams of women, and cries of little ones so young. They bring with them flames that burn with the heat of a thousand suns.'

'This you saw, this night?' Lluva asked gently, the sweet sweet sound of her voice quiet, soothing.

'I see it every night!' Briseis shrieked. She clawed hair, yanking at it viciously. 'They come to me _every_ night! I see them, I feel them, I smell them – I smell them, Lluva! I smell the pain, I smell the horror, I smell the fear! I smell the stench of Death! I smell the stench of _Hades_.'

Lluva sighed and wrapped her arms tighter around the hysterical girl, even as latter struggled viciously against her in an attempt to claw and bite her way from the embrace.

'It will be alright, little one,' Lluva murmured, grip on the princess hardly loosening. 'These dark horses, these _night mares_, they only bring horror to the mind, not to the world, little princess.'

Briseis sniffled.

'How are you so confident?'

'I am.'

The princess sniffled again, then calmed in the arms of her cousin.

'You're dripping,' she whispered, face crumpling into a rather unbecoming frown.

Lluva laughed, the sound like silver chimes in the breeze of spring.

'Hector and Paris thought it funny to have me swim with the little fishes in the courtyard.'

Briseis laughed hesitantly.

'They threw you in?'

'I'm afraid so,' Lluva confirmed, a small smile passing across her delicate features. 'Now, sleep, cousin.'

'But I don't – I don't want to see them, not again.'

'You won't.'

'How are you so sure?' the princess asked accusingly, fearful eyes wide like bronze saucers. 'I don't want to smell him, the stench of him! _I don't want to smell the approach of Hades_.'

'You won't. I'll be here to hold him back.'

'But – '

'Sleep, cousin,' Lluva sighed.

'But – '

'_Sleep._'

The princess whimpered slightly, then pulled away the Amazonian's embrace and began her journey to the darkness beneath the sheets. Lluva watched this with fair amusement, even as she shivered slightly against the cold.

'Sleep well, Lluva.'

'Sleep well, little priestess.'

The lump beneath the sheets shifted incessantly, but as it began to settle, the smile on Lluva's lips fell into a confused frown.

_The stench of Hades_.

Something was wrong.


End file.
